


Paper Home

by chantipede



Series: Paper Hearts [2]
Category: A.C.E (Beat Interactive Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Developing Relationship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, One Shot, Panic Attacks, homophobic parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantipede/pseuds/chantipede
Summary: It's time for Junhee to stop running.
Relationships: Lee Donghun/Park Junhee | Jun
Series: Paper Hearts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117931
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Paper Home

**Author's Note:**

> so this was a one shot to practice stretching out longer scenes because im always too quick and eager to move to the next
> 
> but it turned out heavy, so please check tags and read with caution. theres a lot of panicky and depressed emotions that i dont want people romanticizing. you can find a home in a lot of people instead of weighing it all onto one.  
> with that said ill try to make fluff next time :'/

_ Crack. _

Junhee stops in his tracks with wild hesitation, his heart speeding when his legs stop, and his body telling him  _ don’t stop now, don’t look back,  _ but somewhere lies a pressuring instinct to pay mind to the only valuable possession on his person, and potentially the only thing with the power to…

He picks up his phone and takes off again, overlooking the many cracks that now web across its face as he shoves it back into his hoodie. He swears under his breath over and over, while forcing the idea that it doesn’t matter if it still works or not, that he shouldn’t have hope in  _ anything _ .

He doesn’t care about anything, doesn’t feel his legs pushing long past their limit, doesn’t give into the cramp in his gut begging him to stop, doesn’t question the tears that pour from his face, disappearing into the midnight air and spoiling onto the road. If he did, he might break, might fear himself and his reactions and everything all over again, so he pushes past it all, paying no mind.

_ Pay no mind. _

He just follows wherever his feet take him, on a path his body mapped out upon years of living here that his subconscious would decide against, because he wants to go far—as far as willingly possible from humanity, and as far as humanly possible from his heart.

When his feet stop at the neighbourhood park, his mind has too much space to keep wandering.  _ Do something, do something _ , but his body decides on collapsing onto the cold metal slide.

He lies there for a countless number of heartbeats, his consciousness closing in at the edges of his vision. He would let it take him, doesn’t know if it already has, but for a moment he blinks up at the sky, his body suddenly moving and his surroundings suddenly still, instead of the other way around.

A sober hand pulls his phone out of his pocket to check, and the time is barely legible through the cracks.

_ 12:36am. _ He notes that it still works, and with fingers that search for ways to fill the time, he opens an app and takes an angled shot of the scene.  _ ‘Midnight reach at the park with park,’ _ is what he captions, and with a wavering thumb, he puts it on his story for only close friends to see—no _ , for only Donghun to see. _

It was barely calculated, but now that it floats on the internet, he’s filled with intrusive thoughts. Donghun. The last friend that he talked to and the first person he finally told. The one who finally closed the distance… 

Junhee’s breathing becomes completely quiet. Now he needs to be silent, to feel small, to shrink into himself until he finally disappears into nothing, so when his phone vibrates on the slide, he curls inward with a startle.

The message reads from Donghun, clearly concerned about Junhee’s bearings. His other friends might be too, but after everything he still hoped that Donghun could reliably confront it.

To hear from the other for the first time in a week since their...  _ talk…  _ is underwhelming and overwhelming at the same time.  _ ‘Junhee? Are you really at the park? Past midnight?’ _

The obstacles in Junhee’s mind filter his words into the most simple answer possible. ‘Yes.’

Donghun writes a few times and it makes his typing-ellipses disappear, until finally, ‘ _ Do you want me to come? _ ’

Junhee’s breathing is audible again, and his thoughts tangle into a bunch of words that he definitely won’t be able to text, so he presses the three letters again.

_ Just hit send. _

‘Yes.’

Now comes the moments where Donghun’s texts stop coming, where he’s probably already sneaking out of the door and on his way, and where Junhee has time to anticipate his presence, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to hear someone or talk to them, doesn’t want a destination or answers or even safety; he can’t picture himself wanting anything else than the infinite expanse of the sky to swallow him.

“You’re spiralling again,” he hears his own voice, and the rocking back and forth that he’s been doing—a movement that he didn’t even notice—stops.

Back then, Donghun had moved so close, and it was the most vulnerable Junhee had been in his life. With the distance between them having been stretched for a week, what will Donghun be like after everything?

“Junhee?”

When Junhee can’t bring himself to answer, can’t move an inch to make space on the slide or meet Donghun with anything but heavy eye-contact, Donghun comes forward in the darkness, expression no longer visible under the streetlight.

The hand that lays on Junhee’s knee is as gentle as the voice that calls him.

“Junhee…?” It comes so quiet yet so clear in the waiting night. 

He doesn’t call again, no longer waiting for a response. The contact remains a soothing rub as Donghun waits patiently. He stops to pull a jacket tied around his waist and moves to drape it around Junhee’s shoulders, who flinches with a gasp.

“Sorry, you’re… You’re shaking…”

Junhee can make out the features on Donghun’s face with their current proximity, and it reminds him of their last contact, but this time the familiarity seems to calm him. He leans into the touch and helps Donghun pull the sleeves on. “I thought you might need this.”

“Yeah,” Junhee nods and Donghun finally climbs onto the slide and sits on his knees. He brings his sleeve to Junhee’s face and Junhee realizes he’s wiping at his tears. 

“Oh, Junhee. It’s not safe here.”

Junhee smiles sadly. “It’s not,” he shudders, “it’s... not safe anywhere…”

Donghun takes the complaint wholeheartedly and lets it sit in the air. “I was worried. You didn’t come back, didn’t tell me what happened after, when you came out to me.”

Junhee considered it every second, considered running to Donghun and spilling his pain, but it all made him want to push Donghun away.

“Nothing...” he tries, “Donghun, nothing is okay,” his words shake loudly.

“Did you tell your parents?”

Junhee shakes his head. “I wouldn’t dare. It’s just gotten so much worse, everything. Earlier, they were…” The truth crawls under his skin. “I can’t bear just  _ living _ with them, closeby or seeing them come home or talking at dinner. I can’t talk at dinner.” Junhee is afraid to tell him—“I was afraid you’d think it was your fault.”

“My fault? Why would I…”

“All this!” Junhee says. “I can’t stop thinking about  _ this _ . I come out to you and you  _ kiss _ me and I can’t speak around them, can’t  _ think _ around them and it’s killing me because I,” he buries his face into the denim sleeves, “God, I hate myself  _ so _ much, I don’t want any of this. I can’t bear lying—to my parents, to myself, to  _ you _ .” It’s like he’s been grasping for some way to control it and erase everything and Donghun pulls his hands away from his face.

“I know you didn’t ask for any of this. That your parents are shitty and controlling and that you know it’s not safe if the truth gets out,” he squeezes Junhee’s hands through his sleeves fiercely, “but your truth is beautiful. I— I kissed you to show you that your truth is beautiful, that you can show it to me.”

“But I can’t deal with it, Donghun!” Junhee cries. “I can’t handle my own thoughts, can’t cling to you or push you away like you’re—”

“Like we’re dating?” Donghun asks. “Are we dating?

Junhee pulls out of his reach and dismounts the slide. Through tears he bites his lips and shoves at his face leaving nothing but a mess. While he looks at Donghun, he can feel the world around him like infinite directions to keep running, and all of them closing in.

“Dating or crushing or breaking up, I love you and I don’t think I can deal with it.”

Donghun’s eyes fill with so much sadness. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry that I moved you too fast, that you can’t deal with yourself. I really… really don’t care what we are as long as you can breathe. I want to help you breathe, so you’re not lying to yourself.” The look breaks Junhee’s heart more than he’s been breaking himself.

Astonished, an uncontrollable sob leaves Junhee’s lips as his father’s words repeat in his head.

Donghun continues, “All of that emotion? You don’t deserve it. I just wanted to show you that you have so much more.”

“No, I don’t deserve…” He falls to his knees. “I don’t…”

_ ‘Pay no mind _ ,’ his father had said. ‘ _ The queers are liars and sinners and cheaters...‘ _

“You…”

_ ‘Pay no mind!’  _ His father had said about Donghun. Junhee felt anger and fear pull at his throat and stiffen his limbs. He could feel the words die on his tongue as his father warned him and even threatened him about his best friend, about how he wanted God to do the judging faster. It took everything in him to not respond, to try to convince himself or anyone that there must be a different truth to this all. It took everything to wait until midnight so that he could leave the world in silence.

Junhee feels his body limp on the ground, head stuffed into Donghun’s shoulder and weight supported by Donghun’s arms. He’s breathing uncontrollably, overcome by sobs and a sea of thoughts that spin until they all look the same, until Junhee is drowning underneath and all he hears is a muffled word repeated over and over. It separates his mind from body, oxygen hard to grasp as his brain screams at it to be over. It makes a continuous whimper, and soon he can hear himself calling, _ sorry, sorry, I’m sorry. _

He knows that it scares Donghun to see him like this. It hurts that he has no other option to care, and that he’s Junhee’s only lifesaver right now. Junhee’s biggest fear is that Donghun cannot say no, that he can’t make boundaries big enough, that he will absorb too much of the pain, and especially that Junhee will become too dependent on it.

“No Junhee,” he whispers. “You can survive this. You can lie to survive and it doesn’t have to feel like you’re lying to yourself. You can come to me if you forget that it’s true, and we’ll find more people to affirm it too.” He hugs Junhee who clenches him tightly. “I look at you and see that. Strength to see that future.”

If anyone is strong about this, it’s Donghun. “Strength?” Junhee asks quietly.

“Mmm,” Donghun ponders, “well maybe my standards are low, since I’m so used to liking straight guys.”

Junhee hits him, a chuckle mixed with the hiccuped sobs.

“No, but really. It reminds me that loving boys is beautiful, and nothing but. That’s affirming on it’s own—just liking you,” Donghun says. “And you’re one of the strongest people I’ve met. Not everyone can stand up to their parents’ traditional values. This is just one of them.”

Junhee thinks he’s the weakest person ever right now. “I’m not too much?”

Donghun finds the curls on the back of Junhee’s neck, humming to himself as if Junhee didn’t give him a literal cold shoulder. “I... get it if you can’t deal with it…  _ us… _ but you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. You always make directions to go when you don’t see any,” he compliments. “And if it’s too much and I don’t say anything, that’s on me too.”

“Okay,” Junhee nods over and over, “okay.”

The words give him room to breathe. He can feel his presence in the world, at that park, in Donghun’s arms, and it’s not a dead weight to carry. He lets himself just be there.

As Junhee has found his breath again, Donghun pulls him up from the ground, not separating their touch, as if Junhee would even let him. They agree that it’s not safe to stay here, and Donghun insists Junhee gets rest at Donghun’s house. He can deal with whatever consequences later, considering they both already committed to coming out here so open to danger. With fingers laced beneath jacket sleeves, they walk at a speed that takes them there sooner than later, and as Donghun locks the door in perfect stealth, Junhee wipes his eyes now in tiredness.

“Take my bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.” Donghun leaves Junhee in his room with pajamas while he goes to fetch blankets and a glass of water. He returns to find Junhee cross-legged on the carpet instead, staring blankly and unaware, as if already asleep.

He hauls Junhee up by the armpits and plops him on the bed. “I’ll feed you every last droplet if it ends me,” and Junhee barely complies, glass heavy in his hand. He basks in the feeling of being taken care of, to which Donghun asserts it’s a one-time thing.

“It sure is…” Junhee says sarcastically before drifting off to dreamland, feeling safe for the first time in too long.

It’s brief, and he jostles awake, surrounded by unfamiliar sheets with a familiar smell. The light is still turned on as Donghun finishes his nest on the floor, and he notices Junhee right away. “You okay?”

Junhee stretches his shoulders, realizing he’s frustrated, and a little tipsy. “Just come to bed,” he insists, feeling insecure about his sleep.

Donghun pauses, his lips pinching as he sits on a pillow. Heavy in thought, he returns Junhee’s stare.

“Aren’t we dating?” Junhee asks. “Or, are we…?”

“Are we?” Donghun repeats. “You know I want to, but do you?”

Junhee hums. “I think…”

“No ‘I thinks!’” Donghun interrupts. “I mean, you’re allowed to think. You’re supposed to! But you need to  _ know _ what you’re ready for.”

“...I think after today,” Junhee smiles, continuing the thought, “You know me, and you know your boundaries. You can keep changing them.”

Donghun nods expectantly.

“The past week, I needed the space, I didn’t think we were right. But I won’t do it like that again.” Junhee says. “If we need space or breaks, I’ll talk to you.”

Donghun smiles with a sleepy satisfaction, hair covering his face as he bows with a sigh. “Okay, I’ll join you.” He takes a pillow, switches the light, and climbs in with room between them.

“Mm, Donghun,” Junhee says, “I don’t need space right  _ now _ .”

“Ew, no, you didn’t even brush your teeth.”

Junhee pulls Donghun’s arm around him, feigning grimace and stealing his lips. The kiss feels different from the first, aside from the lack of rush and statement. Junhee can find himself getting used to this—the softness that flows through his body, the closeness as a connecting language, and most of all, the safe space to feel it all. He’s satisfied with the beauty in his heart, and finds that it’s a feeling worth hiding with the right people to show it to.

Donghun swats his shoulders which are shaking in laughter, and Junhee hasn’t noticed that he’s drunk on tears and tiredness, and maybe something else. “Jun-ah, no more of that, you need to sleep.”

Junhee keeps laughing to himself in eccentric lightness.

“Why are you laughing?”

_ Because Donghun is cute _ . “Because it’s funny.”

“What’s funny?”

Even after Junhee stills, there’s a big dumb smile on his face that stretches into a yawn. “Ahh, there was so much today.” He let out a lot today.

“We need to talk about it,” Donghun says. “A lot to talk about.”

“Tomorrow.”

Donghun hums, “Yes, tomorrow.” He moves his hand along Junhee’s arm, and Junhee takes it, free of shyness. “For tonight, we sleep.”

After that, there is no movement, and the night becomes so comfortingly still. Junhee wants to cut out the moment and build an artificial home in his mind to come back to. It’s barely a safe haven, but he thinks it’s a place worth protecting nonetheless.

Donghun says something moments later, but by then, Junhee has already drifted off into the thought.


End file.
